


Gravity

by Canablah



Category: The Amazing Spider-Man (Movies - Webb)
Genre: Basically a series of one shots, F/M, Fluff, Gwen is a strong independent character and i love her, Love, Oscorp and its' many downfalls, Peter Parker is a little shit, Romance, complete and utter cheese in some of these scenes, completely un-beta'd, some major feels, switches between 'tenses a bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 05:23:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1593116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canablah/pseuds/Canablah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter says "I love you." Gwen can't, but she is suspended in free fall and, for once, he is gravity. (Or, three times that Peter confesses his feelings, and one time that Gwen can't repress her own.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gravity

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to express my feelings for TASM2 (still not over it). It is totally un-beta'd, so keep that in your generous heart while you read through. There may be some tiny things I neglected the fixation of, but I wanted to get this out there so it wasn't just cluttering up my Google docs with no rhyme or reason. I hope you like reading it as much as I liked writing it (which I'm ashamed to admit because my soul wept through the entire fandom-fueled journey).

Gwen was crying again. He could hear it from the first floor, not that he would ever tell her that. His best guess was that on nights like this, when rain fell from the sky and landed in splashes on the ground and kids ran passed her, laughing and jumping in puddles and holding the hand of their dad, that Gwen cried the most. She couldn’t help it, he knew. He heard the soft rustle of paper while she was studying, heard her breath get heavy, and then there was silence. The first sob racked him with so much guilt that he thought the very center of his chest would leak out and run with the outwash into the sewers. He thought he would disappear like a massive black hole, curling in on itself and extinguishing through particles in the air. But he stayed where he was, feet planted on the ground, eyes closed and head leaned back against the building, listening to Gwen cry. He had lost count of how many times this had happened. It had become a ritual for him. Some days, when she was happy and giggling and poking him, he would climb right up the balcony, slip through her window and grab her from behind, threatening to web her to the wall if she didn’t stop studying and come with him for a picnic.. Or a swing. On these days, though, Peter listened to the heavy sound of whimpering and cried along with her while staying far from where she was. It was better that way. This time, though, he found himself scaling the wall anyway, maneuvering up the bricks in the downpour, moving too fast to try and talk himself out of it. He would just stand outside, he reassured himself. Yes. That’s what he would do.

Peter brushed the hair from her face and leaned down to her, kissing her forehead and wiping damp cheeks, his sopping hands not exactly doing a very good job of drying. “Shhh,” he whispered, kissing again, forgetting that he wasn’t going to do this, that this was a bad idea. That when bonds strengthened like fiber, like web, they were hard to break. That the more thick the strings, the more adhesive they retained. And here he was, coddling her and wrapping her against his chest and telling her it was okay while she wailed into his neck, eyeliner smearing across his face and down the line of his shirt. “It’s okay,” he cooed. “It’s alright, Gwen. Shhhh. I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He felt like he had been switched on repeat, damned to never have the right words for this, this pain. He could smooth talk any common gentlemen out of a suicide attempt, could bring some kid’s spirit up with a well placed dialogue, some kind words. But here, where he could only hold and listen to the pain inside of Gwen - his Gwen - he lacked soothing words and settled for understanding, favoring the grief that rose up inside his stomach, curdling the little food he’d eaten that day and flickering into his chest. He let the ache become solid, let himself cry with her, and realized that he couldn’t leave. Not then. Not ever.

“Pete,” Gwen croaked, still crying, soaking his neck. He smelled like fresh rain, a humid summer night on her Aunt’s farm in Pennsylvania.

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, dropping his head to kiss the top of her own. “Yeah Gwen?”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no,” he chanted, hands running up her arms and back down in tandem, mouth kissing her hair, the wet parts catching and sticking to his lips. “Never be sorry. Don’t be sorry for anything. None of that was your fault. You’re amazing. You’re beautiful. He would be so proud, you hear me? He would be so proud.”

“Peter,” she whispered, shaking her head and taking the side of his soaked face in one hand while she met his eyes with her own, bright red and swollen, leaking rivuleting droplets that matched the tempo of the rain pounding down onto the balcony outside; matched his heartbeat and hers, his ragged breath and her own. He cradled her and she fit him so very well. It was horrible. “Peter, he would be so proud. He would.”

“I love you,” he murmured into her hair, too low for her to hear. Grief was strange. You never could omit it from memory because it was there constantly, a black cloud in your chest that would subside when you were swinging through a cluster of buildings or running so fast your lungs felt like they were going to concave or had caught the perfect photo a millisecond before the scene collapsed, but would always come back later and crowd into every place it couldn’t reach before. It was hard to deal with death because you never stopped dealing with it, but here it was made easier. When they were dealing with it together it felt better, it felt stronger, and it made him need her. That’s why this could never happen again.

It happened until there were no more tears to shed.

* * *

 

Peter wants to save her. He wants to stop time, snapshot this exact moment, and lock them both into it forever. Laughing, smiling, drinking milkshakes and dangling their feet over the edge of a building. He wants to save her. He wants that to be his job. He wants to rise in the morning for her and sleep with her right beside him every night.

She laughs at him, something funny he did with his face probably, and he puts one arm between them to scooch closer and tease her. “Oh really?” he asks, dark eyebrows up into his hairline.

She giggles at him and it tingles in his ears, makes him draw in a deeper breath. “Yeah really, Pete. It’s not every day you get a scholarship to Harvard without applying... C’mon.”

“It wasn’t for that much,” he insists, flicking the tip of his nose over hers. The way she blushes, the way he can see every tiny hair and how it stands for him is amazing. He is in awe every time they’re close.

“For a whole year!” she cries, not taking it lightly anymore. She wants to save him too, just in her own way. And she is succeeding, so far, with flying colors, because he has never felt more protected, more secure, more safe than when he is with her. But she doesn’t know that.

“And then what, I’m gonna pay with that trust fund my parents set up for me when they left?” he asks, sarcastic, taking another slurp of the chocolate milkshake beside him and then setting it back down.

“No, unless they really did leave you a trust fund.” It’s funny. She sounds hopeful. “You’re going to work and you’re going to be awesome at whatever you decide to do. You can get loans, Pete,” she reminds, playfully socking him in the shoulder. She might as well of full-on punched him so it would have at least tickled a little.

“Loans that I have to pay back,” he says, not looking at her anymore, frowning out into the skyline.

“After you get out,” Gwen Stacy points out. She is so very stubborn and he loves it, but it makes her hard to talk to when her mind is set on something. Of course, he likes that too. He decides to distract her, puts one arm around her waist, and jumps from the building, the two milkshakes left forgotten.

They fall in the sunset, Pete laughing and Gwen screeching and scrabbling for a better hold on his shoulders. Her screams turn to excited cackles when they fly through the air. No matter how many times he takes her swinging, he knows she’ll always have the giggles. It’s a thrill for her and that’s why he loves to do it. Of course, it might also have something to do with her pressing herself so close to him he can feel her heartbeat merge with his own.

“Peter Parker,” she admonishes, “I wasn’t finished with that milkshake. Someone is going to see you. This is so stupi-”

“Shutup,” he whispers, kissing her.

They are in midair with nothing to hold them to earth besides the gravity encircling and crushing. But, for a moment, he defies the laws of physics. It’s just like he’s done millions of times by himself. But with Gwen, it’s different. It’s more beautiful than thrilling and it helps him remember her. Because time stops and their mouths connect and he can feel how much she needs him and how much he needs her. It’s scarier than any free fall, any jump, any flip. It’s her eyes and her heart and everything about her. He wants to keep her here forever, but that can only happen in his memory.

He breaks away and leaves her breath hard and his feet touch the top of Oscorp building.

She laughs and flicks him on the shoulder. “I bet you do that for all your girlfriends.”

He shrugs, grinning down at her and wrapping both arms around her waist. “Most of them don’t appreciate it like you do.”

“Meh,” she tells him, “It would be cooler if you could fly. I mean, why spiders? Why not radioactive birds or wolves?”

They both crinkle up their noses at one another, making a face, and, pretty soon, that’s all they're doing; standing there, making faces, trying to make the other laugh.

Peter stops laughing and he grabs her chin with his fingers, brushing his knuckle up over her jaw line, running a finger over her currently fished lips.

She shakes him off like a child, taking her forefinger and running it along her mouth, scratching. She’s so sensitive there. He chuckles at her.

“What?” she asks while he looks at her, raising both eyebrows suspiciously. “Peter, what?” She ruffles his hair. He’s so unpredictable sometimes. It makes her nervous, but the good kind; the kind before giving a speech or sitting at the top of a rollercoaster.

“I love you.” It’s so sudden that she almost steps back. Her eyes widen and her mouth pulls down before she can stop either reaction. Gwen’s face always gives her away and she tries to compose it, but he caught that millisecond of doubt, and he frowns too.

He looks like a puppy that was pushed off the couch, and she immediately tries to rectify his faith. “I just.” For once, Gwen can’t talk. Spit gets stuck in her throat and she chokes on it. He’s on to her.

“It was too soon,” he says. It’s a fact, not something that the debate team can argue with. He catches the cringe.

“No,” she says, shaking her head, taking his face in her hands like he’s fragile and small and she could break him into a million pieces if she wanted. She could.

“You don’t have to say anything, Gwen,” he tells her, but his face is not a mask.

She kisses his chin while he is unresponsive, a tear trickles from her eye because she can’t say it. If she says it, it will get caught in her throat and it will come out strangled and fretted. His sounded so easy, so sure. She wants the ground to swallow her because she can’t make it sound like that. But she can’t say it.

“It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay.” And suddenly, he has adopted a lighthearted smile, a reassuring look that just makes her want to cry that much more.

She wipes her eyes. “Don’t say you’re okay when you’re not, Peter.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not. It was a little crazy.. You just look.. Beautiful when the sun is behind you like this.” It’s his turn to ruffle her hair.

She laughs through her sniffle. “You’re not too shabby yourself, bug boy.”

“What did you call me?” he asks, lowering his eyes, mouth hiking up.

“Bug. Boy.” She gets closer to him in challenge.

“One more time.” He asks, cupping a hand to his ear and turning his head away.

“Bu-ug,” she says, leaning closer to his ear, devilish smile, “Ba-oy.”

He grabs her tight and flings off the building while she squeals with laughter, digging her arms around his shoulders tighter.

That night, in the dawning sunlight, he realizes she is equally as beautiful with the fading sun behind her. And when it turns to moonlight, when she’s throwing peanuts at him and having him catch them in his mouth at odd angles and varied distances and he’s telling her about when he would play dinosaurs with his dad and hog the T-rex, he notices that even in the dull, artificial lights of the city, she radiates.

“You’re great,” he tells her. “You’re so great.” It’s when she’s trying to show him that she can, in fact, do a cart wheel. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

“No, no, I got it,” she reassures. She pauses a minute, does a tiny run that makes him laugh, and then flips in the air, trying to land on her hands. She screeches, right arm slipping and heading for concrete fast, but she doesn’t touch down with her head because he’s there.

She’s wrapped in his arms, looking up at him. “It was easier when I was eleven.”

He snickers. “Everything was easier when we were eleven.”

“Chemistry?”

He sets her onto her feet and does a perfect backflip.

She rolls her eyes, hoisting herself up onto the railing and nods once at him, chin lifting up in gesture. “That too?”

* * *

 

It was her birthday and Gwen was nowhere to be found. Well, nowhere to everyone else. Peter rounded the corner, hands shoved into his pockets, a casual whistle slipping from his pursed lips, shoulders drooped lazily.

“Hey Pete,” Flash patted his shoulder when he passed, turning around at the same time Peter did. “So,” he said, basketball slung under his shoulder, “you coming to the match on Saturday and taking pictures?”

“Yep,” Peter nodded, “but I can only stay for a minute. My aunt’s working late.”

Flash frowned at him. “That sucks, man, we were hoping you could come to the after party. Wings at Jake’s moms house.”

Peter raised his eyebrows. “Sounds exciting. Sorry I can’t make it. Next time, maybe?”

“Holding you to it, Pete,” Flash called over his shoulder, dribbling the basketball down the hall.

Peter turned on his heel, walking on to his destination again. He could hear the music pounding from the wrestling room, could feel her feet moving through the floor and hear her heart in the walls. So when he found her, he expected nothing less from Gwen Stacy than a dance routine. It was so much better than he thought it was going to be, though. There she was, shaking and rumbling with the music, mouthing along to the lyrics, ponytail flying wild and half undone, sweat running down her forehead, eyes closed.

When they opened, she saw Peter Parker, leaning on the doorway, grinning like he’d just stumbled on the national treasure of embarrassments.

She sighed. “How did you find me?”

He walked over to the boombox on the floor, leaned down, and switched it off. “It wasn’t that hard. I just followed the noise of annoying hip hop music, and bingo.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I came to work out for a while.”

“You’re working out on your birthday?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. She was such a horrible liar.

“How about I work out with you,” he suggested.

She snorted. “Peter Parker, you are a bad influence.”

“Okay, then how about we make out for a few hours?”

This time, she laughed. “Well, you do need the practice.”

He grabbed his chest, making his way toward her, and said, in true Peter sarcasm, “ouch.”

She turned away from him, walking across the room and pretending to fix her ponytail. He followed, not caring about the no-shoes-on-the-mat rule because rules didn’t matter when Gwen was wearing blue yoga pants and one of his t-shirts.

“How long have you been “working out”?” he asked, actually putting it in quotations with his fingers.

“Two hours,” she said. “It’s okay. My mom works until six, remember?”

“I don’t work at all.”

She turned the corner, setting a slow pace around the mat, and he followed a little closer.

She turned to him, tilted her head, and then switched direction, walking in his path.

He cut her off, but she dodged him and made her way around his side toward the other wall. He stepped in front of her, quicker this time, and she cleared her throat, apparently still pretending to ignore him.

Peter grinned while he followed after her. She cut corners and he ended up in front of her. She gave a strangled cry of frustration when, for the fifth time, he was standing behind her when she turned around. With wicked determination burning in her eyes, Gwen took a few steps toward him, a little smile curling on her mouth. She pranced up, close enough for him to grab her, turned three hundred and sixty degrees on her heel, spun back, twirled around one of the concrete cylinders that held up the ceiling, and then walked in the opposite direction.

Peter grabbed her hand, spun her around, and she dodged him, ducking under his arm, turning around to stick her tongue out, but meeting empty air. From the side, he pushed her gently, and her back hit the padded wall. Gwen attempted escape, but both of his hands were already on each side of her head, and she knew she was doomed because Peter was faster and stronger; she was, literally, no match for him. Stupid abilities.

So, she pouted. “No fair.”

“I never said that I played fair,” he told her.

“Call me crazy,” she replied, hitting the top of her head with her hand and then lifting it up into the air, “but aren’t superheroes supposed to play fair?”

“I don’t think you’re truly grasping the concept of ‘vigilante.’”

“I think I have the concept grasped just fine,” Gwen countered, leaning closer to him. “Stupid kid with too much time on his hands likes to do parkour and catch bad guys. Simple enough.”

“I’m not the one trapped in a wrestling room with the vigilante,” he teased.

“It’s my birthday.” Gwen narrowed her eyes at him, playing her winning card.

“Exactly, so let’s go celebrate!”

She sighed.

“Oh no,” he whined, doing his best impression of a Gwen-voice, “Peter’s making me have fun, what am I gonna do?”

“You know,” she told him, “I don’t like to make a big deal about it.”

“You’re eighteen.” He kissed her forehead. “You have to make a huge deal out of that.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because you’re legal?” he tried.

“Can I take a shower at least?”

“Yes! Yes! Absolutely! Absolutely!” She was hoisted into his arms enthusiastically, trying to hide the smile that was breaking out like hives along her face. “I will help you! After all, what kind of superhero am I if I don’t help out a lady?”

When he waggled his eyebrows, she laughed. “Hurry before I change my mind and make you do ballet.”

He scurried from the room quickly, carrying her with him.

Waiting on her bed, he had some time to go through her collection of mentally stimulating, boring, novels. Gwen loved old classics with dashes of modern human anatomy explorations and Peter had already sorted through every available option so, really, all that he could do was look for the story where the man was still alive while they performed the autopsy.

Halfway through his quest, Gwen emerged from the bathroom clouding his nose with shampoo and soap smells, making it crinkle up.

She padded over to her dresser and grabbed the hairbrush laying there, dragging it through her hair in a few quick sessions.

He cringed when he heard the follicles tear away from her scalp in hordes, stood up, and grabbed the brush from her hand. “Let me.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Really?”

“It’s your birthday,” he reminded, putting his hand on his hip and sneering at her, imitating again. Well, it was a little exaggerated for her taste. Gwen laughed anyway, turning from him and taking a seat on the end of her bed.

She curled her legs under her and straightened her back.

When she felt the first stroke of the brush, a shivered rolled down her spine, and she knew the cheeky little brat could hear it, because he chuckled.

She shifted, cleared her throat, and stayed as still as she could while he ran the bristles through the wet blonde mess, so soft that she could barely feel it. But, it was nice, and she couldn’t deny that. Especially when long fingers brushed her neck and tickled down between her shoulder blades.

When he stopped, she almost whimpered from the loss of sensation, but kept her mouth shut, turned, took the brush from him, and then smiled, running her hand down the back of damp tresses. “Okay, let me put an overshirt on and then we can do whatever we’re doing.”

He proceeded to the list the things they were going to do while she made her way to the closet. “Have a picnic consisting of hotdogs and soda, walk around the park and watch performers, and... make out until you admit I’m a great kisser.”

She turned around while she pulled on the cobalt blue button-up. “You’re on, Pete.”

This was working out nicely. The food was set up, the cake was a-go, Mrs. Stacy, the boys, May, the only thing missing currently was Peter and Gwen. Just as May was fixing the cake, turning it around a little and making sure it was the center of the little picnic blanket, Gwen and Peter, hand in hand, came down the concrete path, her laughing at something he had just said.

The laugh faded to recognition when she noticed the boys pointing at the boats cruising through the pond. For a moment, Gwen shucked free of Peter’s hand to ask them just where there mother was, but then she caught sight of both her and Aunt May sitting on the checkered red and white blanket.

She turned to Peter, watched him wink, and then turned back to the scene. Back to Peter again, she beamed at him. “You,” she told him, pointing her finger in his chest, “are in trouble.”

He raised both hands in the air in defense. “Hey, this was your mom’s idea.” His grin said different, though, and she glared at him through her pleased smile.

“Uh hu-” she started, but Peter grabbed her hand and brought her along with him, practically dragging Gwen to the small scene. Both his Aunt May and her mom clasped her in a tight hug in turn. “Happy birthdays,” spewn everywhere. Two hyper brother’s running up and urging Peter to come and help them steer their boat because the the other kids were “kicking their butts” interrupted the festival of love, however.

“Don’t say that,” their mother scolded.

“But they are,” Henry insisted, “and they keep rubbing it in.”

Peter laughed. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do, guys.”

“Yes! C’mon!” Jacob cried, motioning for him to follow. “We need you!”

Peter winked at Gwen, gave her a little motion with his head to follow, and then followed the impatient pair over to where squealing laughter of children and the angry squawk of pigeons was the most abundant.

Gwen went to follow, but her mother stopped her before she could take a step. “Wait, wait, what about this cake?”

“This will only take a minute mom,” Gwen told her, walking backwards towards the pond. “We’ll be back. I’ll monitor. Promise.”

Her mother sighed and let her hands drop to her waist. “Kids are kids.”

May agreed fervently.

Pretty soon, a few minutes turned to an hour, and an all out war was raging between both parties of boat handlers. Turns out the tiny sailboats were a lot harder to control with a remote and no steering wheel, but once they got the hang of it, it was all cheers and laughing and the screeches of kids rooting for each team.

“No! No!” Gwen was crying. “Peter! Turn right!”

“He has to turn left!” Jacob growled.

“Right!” Gwen told him, pointing to an invisible spot in the water. “Don’t you see the trajectory of- Peter! Peter! Left!”

The race was tight, but once the winner had reached shore, they screams erupted around them. Sure, their team had come in fourth, but that was pretty good for a race of ten boats, and the boys were yelling right along with the cheering crowd, rushing to the winners to congratulate them and watch the medals being handed out.

Peter wrapped his arm around Gwen’s shoulder, leading her back to the blanket where half the cake was already missing and May and Mrs. Stacy were already chowing down on sandwiches.

“Here, I’ll make you one,” May insisted, urging them both to sit, setting her sandwich down on the blanket to dig into the basket for ingredients.

The sandwiches, Gwen had to admit, were delicious. The cake, outstanding, the happy birthday sing-along a little off-pitch, if she was being honest, but appreciated.

And the after party, the one where she was shifting from foot to foot with her arms around Peter’s waist while soft music played in the background and he was resting his chin on top of her head, that was perfect. She watched the lights of New York flicker out the window, her head rested into his collar, content to stay here, dancing with him, all night. True, it was his living room, but the place could be quite romantic when adorned with some candles.

“Are you guys okay? Do you need anything?” May called from the top of the stairs.

Peter stopped for a moment, rolling his eyes at Gwen before calling back a “no thanks.”

“Alright, let me know.”

Peter looked back at her and lifted her so that her feet were on top of his, arms wrapping tighter around her waist.

Gwen moved her own so that her hands were clasped loosely around the back of his neck. “Thanks for today.”

He grinned. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Oh, did you?” she laughed

“Yeah, yeah, I did.”

“Uh huh,” she agreed, nodding vigorously with him.

They both sneered at the other.

“But you did like it,” he concluded after a minute. “I could tell.”

“Spider sense?” she played.

“Gwen sense,” he corrected.

“There is no such thing.”

“Then why do I have it?”

“Mmmmm,” she trailed, pretending to think, “because you’re.... Very imaginative.”

He laughed. “Oh really?”

“Yeah really.”

“Really really?”

“Really really, so really.”

“How many really?”

“Like, infinity really.”

“No such thing.”

“Are you going to make out with me or not?” she asked him.

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to subject you to my horrible kissing skills...”

“No, no, it’s fine, I can sacrifice one for the team,” she insisted.

He tilted his head at her, pretending to look thoughtful. With his big doe eyes, the mischievous gleam masked with sweet, boyish innocence, and tiny grin, it was incredibly too sexy. He bit his bottom lip, typical Peter. He seemed to have a loving relationship with his own mouth because it was constantly moving. Lips pursing together, tongue sneaking out to wet both of them. Even under the mask, she knew he was probably scraping his teeth against each other and wetting his lips constantly.

For a moment, she looked back expectantly. He lowered his face to hers, eyes still open while hers closed, letting his lips rest a few inches away, watching her eyes flicker behind the fragile skin coating them. He parted his mouth a fraction of an inch, drew closer and let his lips brush against her own.

A low sound rumbled from her throat. “Peter,” she whispered into his mouth, opening hers into his own and urging him on. “Peter, kiss me.”

He closed his mouth over her bottom lip and sucked, drawing it out. She huffed. “Please,” she tried again, the muffled sound making his grin grow.

A laugh tumbled from his throat and she glared at him through closed eyes. “Terrr,” the last part of his name slipping from her mouth into his when he released her bottom lip and kissed her lightly, mouth closed.

She opened hers, urging him on, but, agonizingly slow, he licked over both her bottom and top lip as light as he could manage, barely touching either. She whined, threading her hands into his hair and trying to pull him closer.

He resisted the urge to laugh while he opened his mouth, oh so slowly, over her own. She opened with him, tongue slipping into his own eagerly.

He caught it and sucked it between his lips and she groaned in frustration.

Gwen took her mouth back, opened her eyes, and glared daggers at the shit eating grin on his face. He bit his bottom lip.

“Peter. Parker.” She narrowed her eyes. “You are going to kiss me. Right. Now.”

“What’s in it for me?” he asked.

“I won’t reveal your secret identity to all of Manhattan?”

“Eh, I can risk it.”

Gwen sighed. “You’re a great kisser,” she said.

“What was that? Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“You heard me,” she scoffed.

“Nope. You were mumbling.” The smile grew and so did the red across her nose.

“You’re a great kisser,” she grumbled.

“What was that?”

“You, Peter Benjamin Parker, are the greatest kisser that has ever been since.. When they first discovered kissing.”

He leaned down and they engaged in what Gwen would have called a real kiss. One that consisted of his mouth over her own and their noses brushing against the other at inopportune moments. Still, it was the best kiss she thought he had ever given her and, she admitted to herself as she had just done to him moments before, Peter was a good kisser. Very good.

Later that night, when he had dropped her at her doorstep and kissed her goodbye after making her admit, for a second time, that he was a great kisser, Peter watched her fall asleep. And, when she was snoring sufficiently, he closed her bedroom window, turned back, and whispered “I love you, Gwen.” It was true.

* * *

 

The lab was quiet today. It was funny to Gwen, just because the usual hustle and bustle that made her anxious had faded away and she was left to sit quietly to study reports and take samples without interruption. Her supervisor, the one that had replaced Dr. Connors, was taking the day off because his wife had gone into labor early and his replacement had not come in yet. Gwen was a little aggravated that they felt the need to grab a replacement instead of letting her take over the lab for the evening, but the more cogent argument kept her calm; if a huge problem happened to arise, Gwen was much less prepared to deal with it than a professional. Still, it had been notably serene today, and she was sure that, if faced with a huge setback, her presence would prove effective. Plus, the replacement supervisor was presumably late since she had been at her job for at least five hours with no sign of him. Great work ethic.

She scribbled ‘late for work’ on a sticky note and stuck it to the edge of her laptop, a reminder to tell the department about this little escapade. Maybe it was just a mix up, but they needed to clear that with her beforehand. If Peter were there, he would have been taking the sticky note and tearing it up, admonishing her for tattling. However, Pete was not there, and she wasn’t working for Oscorp to coddle friends. If Gwen was late to work even once, she was runner for the rest of the day. If one of the higher ups were late for work, it was hardly acknowledged unless someone left a note for the management team.

A little on the irritable side because, Gwen picked up her water bottle and went to fill it at the fountain in the hall, but something in the monitors ahead caught her eye and she turned, immediately thankful that she had. She knew right away that the camera her eyes were on were in the lower half of the building where the entrance was. They were there so that if they had to put the upper floor on lockdown, they could make sure there were no individuals scattered around the building. Gwen set her water down and kept her face trained on the screen, her eyes growing wide. The lobby looked vacant save for about six people, each dressed in black from head to toe, and the receptionist. It might have been her imagination but it looked like they were in some kind of formation. Maybe a tactic? Of course, the only reason her mind registered the word ‘tactic’ at all was the criminal activity happening ten floors below her. The receptionist was currently on the phone while the head of the group held a gun, shiny and black and decidedly not fake, up to her temple.

Her side collided with a desk and Gwen cursed silently, leaning down to grab the edge and let the pain subside. While her head was down, she spotted the large yellow button on the wall to close off the upper floors with the firearm resistant glass. Instantly, she discounted the idea. There could have been, right at that moment, more of them swarming through the building. Gwen took a solid breath and grabbed her phone from the desk, pressing her thumb over the number seven and holding it there.

“New York City Police Department, Queens Division. How can I help you?”

“Sergeant Matt?” Gwen whispered, making her way over to the panel set into the right side of the room and switching on the rest of the cameras. “This is Gwen Stacy-”

“Gwen, are you alright?”

The images taking place on the remaining monitors lodged her heart into her throat.“Yes, I’m okay, but I think the workers at Oscorp may be in trouble.”

“I’ll have a team over right away. Until then you need to stay put, Gwen. If you can, find a hiding spot and do not come out until a member of my team finds you, do you understand?”

“Please hurry.” It wasn’t that she thought Matt wouldn’t - he had been a friend of her father’s since she was in third grade and had come to dinner at her family’s house a countless number of times - but the screens painted a picture that made the rational part of her brain thicken with fear. Black-suits were flooding every monitor. In some cases, there were workers with their hands and feet tied together sitting on the floor while the felons raided the rooms. In others, members of Oscorp were being beaten. Gwen shoved her phone into her lab coat pocket, turning around in a circle until she caught the particular screen that hosted a direct view to the weapons department, the neutral view providing a moment of respite when she saw that they hadn’t yet made it to that lower level; if they happened to find their way, things were going to get a lot worse and she knew that it was still extremely vulnerable. Gwen didn’t have the clearance to lockdown the basement level, but she knew, from running experience, that there was a room downstairs on the basement floor that did exactly that. Her eyes flew back to the monitor for the first floor, and each body that had been in the lobby had disappeared along with the receptionist.

Gwen, acting quickly, made her way to the key box, grabbed the handle, and gave a mighty tug. Locked. She reached down and tugged off one of her boots, brought it up, and then flung it forward. The heel connected to the glass in a splintering crack, shrilling alarm accompany the act. She had to bash it a few more times to get a hand sized hole through it. Before she tugged her boot back on, she reached in and grabbed the three keys dangling on the hooks inside. Stuffing the other two into the lab coat, she ran over to the drawers beneath Dr. Connors computer and pulled each one open until she discovered the one that wouldn’t give. Gwen slipped the key into the lock and wretched the drawer open, grabbing the heavy pistol inside and taking the safety off. Then, she raced over to the alarm and typed in the code to silence it.

Stealing a few calming breaths, Gwen held the pistol up in front of her before making her way into the hall. It was quiet and the only sounds were coming from the generator on the far end, but she still kept the gun raised by her face, eyes flickering around the room.

Heart in her eardrums, Gwen crept to the edge of the hall and peered down over the balcony, ducking behind the railing when she saw at least twelve of them swarming down below.

Hoping none of them were looking up, Gwen made her way, on her hands and knees, over to the elevator. She reached up, pressed the down button, careful to hold the gun in her right hand because shooting herself, at this point, would just ensure demise.

Gwen looked to her left one more time to make sure the hall was empty. It was. Then, she turned to her right. Coming from the office she had just exited, she got a good look at one of the people dressed in black. Black hood, shiny leather gloves, combat boots, at least six three. Male. Coming towards her. The elevator dinged, Gwen launched herself in, and jammed the button for the basement rapidly, pressing herself to the wall and holding the gun up. The doors started to close, but two gloved hands reached around each side and tugged, prying them back open. As soon as she had a clear shot, she aimed at his foot with both hands and fired two shots. Blood spurted through the doors and onto the floor before he screamed in pain and stumbled back. The doors slammed shut, snapping around one of his gloves before he could pull his hand the whole way through, taking it down with her.

While the elevator climbed down the eleven flights, Gwen pressed herself against the heavy glass and breathed, trying to think of the bottom floor’s layout. If she was right then the room where the switches for closing off the lower floor was left of her if she was facing the wall. Her thoughts slammed to a halt with the elevator. She looked up to the red number on the wall. Four. The floor that she had not pressed. Gwen hoisted the pistol up and closed one eye, aiming it at the door and waiting.

A few moments passed and nothing happened. A few more and still the elevator stood still, unmoving and uninterrupted. She reached over and pressed the basement floor again, then once more. She turned to the glass and looked down. The floor below was silent and dark. She reached over to the buttons again, pressed the open one, twisted the gun up, and waited. Nothing. She pressed the button that opened the doors in case of power failure.

The doors slid open. No one jumped in. Gwen waited a few more moments, and, when her eyes had adjusted to the black, she took a tentative step toward the door. The lights were off down here and that meant someone had cut the power. The power controls were in the basement, and so the incentive for getting down there spurred her legs forward. Gwen raced from the elevator, flicked her head down each hall, and then scurried down the left side, attempting to keep silent while she ran, pulse pounding in her ears, for the evacuation stairs. Gwen wasted no time bashing through the door, ignoring the railing and racing down the dank, metal stairs. She could hardly see, but she knew that, at the bottom, there were emergency flashlights. Stumbling and haphazard, Gwen crashed down to the first floor landing, bashed the emergency glass in with her elbow, and grabbed the small silver light. She clicked it on, pulled it up in front of her, found the door, brought the gun up, and aimed as she bumped it open.

The receptionist was laying on the floor a few paces away from her, thick, dark red blood pooling around her head. Gwen’s hand flew to her mouth, cutting off the sob that threatened to spill out. She took five deep breaths, each one to match her footfall while she crept along the wall. She could see the glass doors that led to the basement on the opposite end, so she focused on that instead of the body. She had almost made it until one of the doors swung open up ahead and three of them walked through, each one massively tall and massively horrifying. In that moment, it took all the will in her body to stay calm. It was dark, she reminded herself, they couldn’t see her yet and the flashlight had been carelessly dropped into her lab coat pocket. If she wanted, she could stay and wait for them to leave again before continuing. However, with the glass doors less than a few footsteps away from her and the trio distanced farther, she decided to make her way across the floor. Quietly, Gwen pushed herself off the wall, forcing her breath even.

Step. Step. Step. Step. Breathe. Step.

She counted her feet, gun hanging at her side with heavy knowledge.

She didn’t have time to see how far she was before a body slammed into hers, taking her back and into the glass with a rumbling thud. Her head snapped back and into the doors, vision swimming for a minute, a soft whimper escaping her lips. He grabbed the hand that had been clasped around the gun and slammed it above her, causing the weapon to slip from her sweaty palm and clutter to the floor.

“Hello there,” the mask spit. The eyes underneath were as black as the cloth surrounding them.

Gwen’s forced her eyes to look for the three other men, dismayed to find them making their way over. She had to act quick whether her head was pounding or not, so she reared her heel back and summoned the knowledge of five years of self defense classes, bringing them back down on his instep. He released her wrist and she brought her elbow down on the side of his neck. When he concaved, she took her knee and let it connect to his stomach. Falling to his knees, he was met with her other knee in his nose and her heel cracking down onto the side of his head afterward. Gwen grabbed the gun, pushed open the glass doors, fell through, rolled onto her knees, pulled it shut behind her and punched in the numbers on the keypad to lock them just as the other three slammed into the glass. The back of her head pounding and her shoulder throbbing with pain, Gwen scrambled to her feet, panting, and sprinted for the stairs, smashing glass sounding through her eardrums. She could hear their footfalls, their angry yells before she slammed through the door to the basement at the bottom. More black-suits awaited her arrival. Gwen took off down the opposite end of the hall while they made chase. She rounded the corner, hoping to find some kind of landmark to tell her which direction she was headed, but all that greeted her were more doors. Countless doors lining a barren hall.

A noise of frustration ripping from her haphazard breath, Gwen ran faster, arms pumping up and down and feet pounding on the floor. Up ahead, she could see a walkway leading to the left, so she took it, not bothering with directions anymore. There were at least ten of them chasing her now and if she stopped they were going to kill her. Or worse. Refusing defeat, Gwen turned down another walkway to the right. She felt the hand grab her arm, screamed when they pulled her to them. She turned clumsily, gun raised to shoot, but they knocked it out of her hand faster than she could pull the trigger.

“Gwen!” Peter screeched.

She had never been so happy to see that black mangled spider on the front of his suit in her entire life. “Peter,” she whispered. “Peter.” She felt the front of the suit with her hand to make sure he was real, chanting his name, tears leaking from her eyes.

He grabbed her hand. “What are you doing?!” he hissed, his voice an angry growl that she didn’t quite catch through her relief.

He didn’t have time to scold her before she was pushed behind him and her pursuers rounded the corner.

All seven of them stopped.

The head raised his gun in the air, but Peter was too fast. Gwen watched as he grabbed his hand, twisted it back, and then proceeded to take the team down.

Before she knew what was going on, he had grabbed her waist, flung her over his shoulder, and sprinted down the hall.

“Peter!” Gwen cried, snapping out of whatever she had fallen into. “Peter, we have to close off the weapons vault.” The whole building had somehow filled with shots and pounding footsteps in the few seconds that he had taken to hoist her over his arm.

“Shutup!” His voice reverberated around them.

She gasped, looking back at him, her mouth open in astonishment. She had never heard his voice sound that before, tone filled with unshed rage. Gwen’s mouth snapped closed until she was outside safely with the rest of the staff and the medics were ushering her to come with them. Police cars lined the building, each one with sirens blaring. To Gwen’s surprise, the sun had already set on the city. She watched as Peter disappeared back into Oscorp, crashing through the window on the third floor.

“Gwen! Gwen!”

She turned around to catch the eyes of the sergeant currently calling her name. Matt put one hand on the side of the Ambulance she was currently sitting in the cab of. “Are you alright?”

“You have to tell them to close off the weapons vault,” she stammered. “If they don’t-”

“Gwen, that’s already been taken care of,” he assured. “My team has it under control. No one is getting to the weapons.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, cringing when the tweezers pulled the first piece of glass from her mangled elbow.

He nodded, but she had an idea that it wasn’t his sole team that took care of this escapade. By the layout of the situation, she guessed that Spider-Man had had something to do with this operation. She wondered who had gotten there first, if Peter had been in the same building while she feared for her life, and shuddered. He could have been so close all along, trying to find her, and it made her feel incredibly guilty. Incredibly guilty and stupid. Still, it was over now and Peter had saved her and Oscorp was safe. Even then, when Gwen had assured the paramedics that she didn’t need an overnight trip to the hospital and Sergeant Matt had escorted her home himself, Gwen felt something unease turning in the pit of her stomach.

Her mother wrapped her into her arms, tears running down her face. Gwen stumbled back a little, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and assuring her that she was fine. Over her shoulder, she could see the local news whirring on about the attempted robbery at oscorp. Abruptly, the scene changed from masked men getting placed into police cars to a flash of red and blue at the tallest part of the building.

She turned away from her mother, rejecting supper, making an excuse about being tired, and then hurrying to her room.

Peter was there, sitting on her bed, mask off and back turned to her. The door clicked shut and Gwen kept her hand on the knob.

He was completely still. She couldn’t even see his shoulders rise and fall with breath. It unnerved her to see him so stoic, so frozen. Like he was trying not to tell her what an absolute fuck up she was.

Gwen opened her mouth, then shut it again.

Her eyes barely caught the movement when he stood, halfway across the room before she could be suprised. She braced herself for his rough voice, but she got his arms around her instead.

Gwen wrapped her own arms around his waist, embracing the hug, shoulders falling in relief when she felt him breath.

“I’m so glad you’re ok,” he told her, “but that was so stupid. Why would you do that, huh? Why would you do that, Gwen?”

“Peter, I couldn’t just let them - I couldn’t hide while they -” her voice fell away when she looked at his face and found tears there. She reached up to brush them gently from his cheeks, not caring that he smelled like sweat and that he was covered in grime.

“I don’t care,” he replied, pulling her tighter. “I don’t care. You’re human, Gwen. You’re untrained and there were so many of them. They could have killed you.” His voice choked on the last two words and the tears trickled harder.

She shook her head. “That doesn’t mean I can’t try, Pete-”

“Yes it does!” he cried softly, taking her face in both hands and leaning down to her. “It does mean that! You have to promise me you will never do that again. You were in horrible danger, Gwen. I couldn’t find you. I - I couldn’t find you. When I saw the woman lying on the floor..”

Oh. The receptionists with her blonde hair scattered in a pool of blood. He thought...

She shook her head. “Peter, I’m sorry.” Her voice cracked.

“Promise me,” he told her again, his grip tightening softly on her face. “Promise Gwen.”

“I promise,” she agreed.

He moved so that she was wrapped in his arms, rocking her like she was a child and laying on her bed. Peter curled over her like a blanket, careful not to hurt the bandage on her elbow while he buried his head into the soft skin of her shoulder and wept.

She ran her hands through his hair, leaning down to kiss his head lightly.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said, and then, softly, “I love you. I love you so much. I never meant to do that to you and I love you.”

Spider-Man transformed into a child in her arms. He was so small, Gwen knew. So pliable and so easy to tear down. As soon as she had realized what she said to him, the words that had been whispered from her mouth, she knew that it was true. She loved Peter Parker and she had said it. She loved Peter Parker.

“I love you,” she said again, and it was so easy, so she said it again. And then a second time. The third time, she felt him sob on her chest. It was something between a breath and a laugh, and he looked up at her with an undeniable smile.

“I love you, Gwendolyn.”

“I love you, Peter Parker.”

“I love you.”

Gwen felt them meld together, felt there bones conform one to the other, and knew that Spider-Man.. Peter Parker. He was hers. And then, again, realized that she had known that all along.


End file.
